In the eye of the beholder
by jandrina
Summary: What makes a crime a crime? After Aragorn and a fellow ranger are taken prisoners by orcs, they meet the other captives, both humans and elves. One elf assumes a rather unlikely role though...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. I only play with them, without aim for gain beyond personal fun.

A/N: It's shaky ground I am walking with this story, I know that..., I am not saying the characters act 'right' here, even less am I saying that I know how to act 'right' in such a tight spot... just messed around a bit and saw where that led me, and you can enjoy the result – or leave, if the story is not to your taste ;-). Story is finished already, I'll post parts 2 and 3 in a few days.

Warnings: Violence, including torture and death. AU, most likely.

* * * * *

In the eye of the beholder

Aragorn bit his lip in annoyance. They had been caught by orcs. Too many of them had suddenly been upon them, and Hilmar and he had no chance to drive them back. They fought as long as they were able, but in the end the sheer mass of orcs brought them down. Hilmar was injured, not deadly but enough to need Aragorn's help to walk.

Feelings of dread threatened to overwhelm the young Dunadan. He had fought orcs before and survived, but never before was he prisoner to them. Even though he had not been told the full tale of how Lord Elrond's wife had died, he had heard enough while growing up in Imladris to understand the terrible danger they now were in. Orcs were cruel by nature. For the first time in his life, Aragorn was truly happy to be no elf. He would not find mercy at an orc's hand as a human, but for elves the horrible beasts held a special hate.

The orcs brought them into a huge cave, down the tunnels and finally into a dark big cell. There they left them, and Aragorn helped Hilmar sit down at the wall. Then he looked around. Two elves were crouched in one corner, one of them seemed wise and old, despite the ageless face, but the younger one trembled. His nervousness was almost palpable. In the opposite corner a group of humans were located, and Aragorn was dismayed to see two children and a woman amongst the group of five.

The older of the men came towards Aragorn, and greeted him, "Well, I would bid you welcome, but this place is anything but welcoming. My name is Naomer. My wife Sibolda and my son Nordrim are over there. We are travellers from Rohan. Meothen has lost his wife when the orcs caught us, but his daughter survived."

In greeting, Aragorn bowed slightly, and said, "I'm called Strider, and my companion's name is Hilmar. We are rangers from the North." And with a nod towards the elves Aragorn asked, "And them? They seem to be from Mirkwood?"

"I know nothing about the elves, and to be honest I want to have to do as little with them as possible," Naomer said with obvious hate in his voice.

Aragorn was surprised, but kept his reaction hidden, instead he asked calmly, "Why?"

"One of them is a torturer."

With a frown Aragorn stared at the man. What he heard was hard to believe. Naomer explained further, "The other elves also keep their distance from him, and from us. Five they were, and they arrived together, but now one of them is tormenting either one of his companions, or one of us. The fifth elf is dead; he died by his own kin's hand. But I don't know why the others can't control him. The torturer is too strong for us mere mortals. Meothen, two friends of us who are dead by now, and me tried to overcome him, but we could not manage. He fought like mad. But the elves just sit there and do nothing. They should stop the crazy one. He did torture one of them to death as well, after all! And right now he is having his go with another elf!"

Naomer's voice became more and more agitated, and Aragorn glanced shortly at the elves. There was no way they could have missed what was being said, and yet they did not defend this renegade elf, instead the younger of the two seemed to shake even more, while the older tried to comfort him. Aragorn exchanged a glance with Hilmar. The other had not been raised by elves like Aragorn, but he had met the sons of Elrond often, and went on well with them. His expression spoke clearly of his dislike as well as distrust of the information they just had heard.

Aragorn talked a while longer with Naomer, to gain more information about the situation they were in. Then steps could be heard. A few orcs came, and between them they carried an unconscious young elf with dark hair. After them, with slow steps and head held high and proud, a blond elf followed. Aragorn almost gasped out loud. This elf looked exactly like a younger Thranduil. Aragorn had met the elven king once, and knew Elrond was expecting his son with an escort for a short visit. This elf most likely was Legolas, son of the king of Mirkwood.

For a moment their eyes met, then the elf's eyes flickered over the sitting Hilmar, and everyone else in the cell, before he retreated into the corner farthest away and stood against the wall, unmoving, with stoic face and unresponsive eyes.

Aragorn stared at him for a while longer, barely able to believe his eyes. Everything he ever had heard about Legolas implied that he was caring and gentle. To imagine him as torturer was almost unthinkable. Perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps the elf now with him in the cell was not Legolas.

He would not – could not – ask though, in case the orcs or even humans knew not who the elf was. A son of an elven king was a high prize. Aragorn would not endanger Legolas such, no matter how he seemed to behave now. As for the torment... Aragorn resolved to observe more before he made up his mind, but for now he would continue under the assumption that indeed the elf was Legolas. What he had seen so far seemed to indicate that Naomer had spoken truth, but he would wait a while longer before he made his final judgement on the issue.

* * * * *

While Aragorn was bandaging the deep wound in Hilmar's leg, one orc returned, and brought some food and water. A dreadful silence fell over all in the cell. Aragorn understood why, as soon as the orc growled, "Tomorrow one of you is going to be branded."

Now the torture that would follow the next day had been declared, and nervous glances were exchanged amongst humans and elves. The woman and her son were crying softly. The only one who showed no reaction at all was Legolas.

Naomer and Meothen brought their family members food and water, and then they joined Aragorn and Hilmar, who were eating the meagre meal quietly.

"Meothen and I think we should try again to overwhelm the torturer. We are four now, perhaps we could convince the elves as well to join us," Naomer said.

The two rangers exchanged a short glance, and Hilmar answered, "I don't think that wise. We know not much about what is going on here, and to attack an elf is never without risk."

Meothen exclaimed, "Not attacking him is not without risk as well. Who, do you think, will he choose?"

Aragorn asked, "What do you mean by that?"

Meothen, with a nod towards the corner Legolas was in, said, "He decides who has to take the branding. Tomorrow, when the orcs come, they will ask him whom to take. Then he will indicate one of us, and also do the torturing. So far he has not sunken as low as to have the orcs take one of the children or Sibolda, and it was an elf today. I am sure it is going to be one of us humans tomorrow, though."

Naomer added, "Both Meothen and I have been chosen already, as have been all the elves. Often it is bearable, but a branding is what killed one of the other men before. I don't know if one of us would survive it, and from the torturer's patterns so far I am also sure one of us humans will have to take it."

Despite his resolve to not falter in his belief that Legolas was not cruel by nature, Aragorn shuddered. Hilmar now reluctantly said, "At first I thought you speak nonsense, but now that I heard all this, I agree. If the other elves join us we could try to overcome him, but I don't think we stand a chance without them."

With a short nod Naomer went towards the elves, while Aragorn quietly argued with Meothen, "It might well be the elf has reasons we know nothing about for what he does. What you told us indicates he tries to spare the weak ones at least."

"Wait until he has been over you, and then tell me again that we should wait!" Meothen angrily growled. "It might be well too late then. I have seen my two strong friends succumb to the cruelness of this elf, and I tell you: none of us will leave this cell alive if we do not stop him!"

Before Aragorn could answer, some excitement arose from the corner the elves were in. Naomer's raised voice could be heard, "Are you afraid of him so much? Of course you can fight him!"

The answer of the oldest elf was quiet, they could not hear it, but a few moments later an angry Naomer stalked back to them, and stated, "They will not or can not aid us. We are on our own."

Again Aragorn glanced towards Legolas. The elf seemingly had not moved, but his stance spoke of a determination that indeed seemed unshakeable. The two rangers, knowing well about the superior fighting abilities of elves, agreed wordlessly that battle against him would be too risky. Aragorn, who despite his younger age was the one who ultimately would decide their course of action, spoke for them both, "We also won't fight. And I advise you to not oppose him alone."

Naomer and Meothen tried once more to convince the two rangers to change their minds, but as soon as the Rohirrim realized that they would stand to their decision they went grumbling back to their families.

Aragorn barely slept during that night. Alternately he checked Hilmar's wound which showed signs of infection, or observed the others. The group of humans huddled together closely, and they were quiet. The three elves talked for a while, but then they also seemed to rest. Legolas waited until everyone settled down, before he helped himself to the meagre leftover of dirty water. Food had none been left for him, but Aragorn knew that lack of food would not bother an elf for a long time.

"He is a curious one, this elf. I'd like to know his story," Hilmar said softly. Surprised Aragorn looked at his fellow ranger. He had thought the older ranger was asleep. Once more he checked Hilmar's forehead, and with dismay registered that he was warm to the touch.

For a moment Aragorn considered to tell the other about his guess that the elf was Legolas, but then he only answered, "He is indeed."

"Whom, do you think, will he choose tomorrow?" Hilmar's voice was calm. Aragorn knew that despite the fact that the other was afraid, like he himself was, he would take whatever came his way without complaint, and that his question was asked out of want to prepare. Aragorn had given the matter some thought, but he chose to not voice his opinion in full, instead he only said, "I don't know, my friend, but I am fairly certain it won't be you. Anyway, we'll find out soon enough. For now, I suggest that you rest. You have a fever and I can't tend you properly here, your body will have to fight it on its own. Rest will be of importance for that."

After Hilmar had fallen asleep, Aragorn once more let his eyes drift towards Legolas, who ignored his stare completely.

Some time later steps indicated that the orcs came. Aragorn was still watching Legolas, who now for the first time, and only for a moment, met his eyes. Then Aragorn knew he was the one Legolas had decided on. Relieved that Hilmar would be spared, Aragorn rose to his feet, let his cloak slide to the ground next to Hilmar so that it would not be lost or damaged, and waited for the orcs to take him.

* * * * *

After a few hours, Aragorn wished fervently that he simply could escape. The pain from the iron pokes that Legolas repeatedly pressed against his flesh was unbearable, and despite his best efforts to hold back, he cried out in pain once more. So far he had not begged the elf to stop, but it had been close, despite the fact that Aragorn was sure no amount of pleading would keep the pain from coming. As of yet the orcs had not even asked something of him, they were not doing this to break him into giving up secrets they most likely were not even aware that he held. This whole enterprise was sport to the orcs. But what it was for Legolas, Aragorn had not figured out yet.

Not once did the elf flinch or hesitate while torturing him. Again and again the cold eyes looked through him, as if he were a mere object, not worthy of further consideration beyond where best to place the next poke. Aragorn by now no longer was sure if the elf truly could be Legolas. All he knew right now was pain and terror like he never before had felt, and he was beyond the point where he even cared that he reacted badly whenever Legolas approached him.

His eyes went wide the next time Legolas came close. This time the elf held not a simple iron pole, but a flat shovel, glowing red and giving off a heat Aragorn could feel even from the distance. He was no longer fully conscious, but upon seeing that he tried to fight with all the strength he had left. While uttering a string of curses, he pulled at the ropes that bound his limbs, but to no avail. He was held in place and there was nothing he could do to avoid the approaching terror.

Then Legolas pressed the red shovel against his side, and white hot pain swallowed Aragorn.

* * * * *

When he woke, his whole body pulsed with pain. The most terribly hurting spot was his left side, and he remembered what had happened. In uncontrollable fright, Aragorn tore his eyes open and jerked as if still bound and once more trying to free himself. The movement jarred his many hurts, and he almost passed out again, but then his eyes fell on the worried face of Hilmar, who quietly said, "Don't move, Strider. Stay still and I'll try to ease your pain."

Aragorn calmed, and he pain got bearable. Hilmar, who knew not nearly as much about healing as Aragorn, but had basic training, put a soft wet cloth on Aragorn's side, and with another he was dabbing at the smaller wounds, in a try to clean them. A glance around told Aragorn that he was back in the cave, as was everyone else. Legolas again was in his corner, a motionless cold statue. The oldest of the elves was sitting a few feet away from the two younger ones, and the other humans were once more huddled together in a tight knot of bodies, legs and arms, seeking comfort from each others presence.

Hilmar offered him some water. It tasted as bad as the night before, but Aragorn knew he needed the fluids, any fluids, so he drank without complaint. Hilmar asked him how he fared, but he ignored the question, instead asked one of his own, "How long....?"

His voice was weak and raspy, and Hilmar answered calmly, "Night is already half over. We have a few hours until daylight. But do not fear, I am sure you will not be chosen again."

Something was off. Aragorn looked closely at his kinsman, and thought he could see a bruise on Hilmar's face that had not been there the day before. With a frown he asked, "What happened?"

"Nothing." The replay was given hastily and Aragorn's frown deepened, while he continued to stare into Hilmar's eyes demandingly.

Finally Hilmar admitted, "Well, we tried to stop the torturer. After I saw what he did to you, I conceded. He can't be allowed to continue his cruel deeds."

Once more Aragorn glanced over to the elves, and the humans, before he softly asked, "Did everyone fight?"

"No, the elves again refused. I can't understand them. Clearly the oldest will be chosen for tomorrow's torture, they always seem to know if one of them has to go, and whoever it will be separates themselves the night before. But all of us men tried, and we lost badly. Perhaps if you had fought with us, we would have stood a chance. But as it is Naomer has a broken arm now, and Meothen and I have collected a fine assortment of small injuries. Nothing dangerous, I assure you," he hastily concluded when he saw that Aragorn tried to rise.

Aragorn, who by no means was in any condition to get up yet, sank back with a heavy sigh, and tried to relax, and after a while he dozed off.

When he next woke, he felt stronger, and went up. Legolas and the oldest of the elves were gone already. Aragorn checked the arm of Naomer. It was already treated as well as was possible in their situation. Then Hilmar and he tried to cheer the children up, and relax the others, but they were nervous themselves, and after a while everyone fell into unsettled silence once more. Aragorn closed his eyes, but he did not sleep, instead he was thinking, hard.

Hours later, orcs brought the old elf back. He was unresponsive, and fell where they let him drop, an undignified heap on the ground. When the two others checked him over, they realized he was dead already. One broke down, and wept loud and long, while his injured companion more quietly lamented. Legolas gave no visible sign that he was affected in any way by the death of one of his kin, and the group of Rohirrim murmured angrily amongst themselves.

Hilmar, who was also observing the torturer, quietly said to Aragorn, "We must do something, do you not agree?"

"I agree that some action is needed, but I don't believe that killing this elf will solve anything. Think about it, Hilmar. Why does he torture, but spare the weak? Why is he with us, and not with the orcs?"

This time the orcs did not declare any torture to come for the next day, when they brought food and water. Aragorn asked Naomer, "Has this happened before?"

"Yes, sometimes. The torturer still leaves though, so perhaps they have other prisoners, and he works them over for a change."

Aragorn did not think so, but kept his opinion to himself, instead he asked both Meothen and Naomer for any information they had on the cave system, the timetables of the guards, how many usually came and so forth. The two Rohirrim exchanged a glance, and then, in a whisper, Meothen asked, "Do you plan to escape?"

"Do you not?" was Aragorn's only response.


	2. Chapter 2

During the next day, while Legolas was gone, Aragorn approached the remaining two elves. But one still was too ill and the other too grief stricken to be of much help. They agreed to not hinder any flight plan the ranger could come up with, though.

Now he only had to convince Legolas, for Aragorn's idea would not work without his support. When Legolas came back in the evening, the young ranger quietly observed him. Legolas seemed even less approachable than the days before, if that was possible. Aragorn did not go to him instantly, instead he waited until the orcs brought food, and told them what to expect the next day. Whoever Legolas chose would have to endure twenty whiplashes. Aragorn and Hilmar exchanged a glance. Perhaps they could indeed set their plan into motion.

Silently Aragorn went to his feet and stepped towards Legolas. While he went closer, he made some disturbing observations. Despite his calm exterior, Legolas was slightly shaking. Also the odour of blood was around him like a dark cloud. On purpose, Aragorn made a small shuffling noise with his feet, and as he had expected, Legolas suddenly snapped to attention. The elf had not been aware of him before. Deeply worried, Aragorn looked into Legolas' eyes.

"Stand back!" ordered Legolas harshly.

Aragorn stopped where he was, but did not retreat. Instead he quietly, so that only elven ears could catch his words, asked, "Are you well?"

Legolas swayed slightly, but adjusted his stance and his body was tensed for instant action. Aragorn did not doubt that the elf still could take him, if he would provoke him now. When Legolas said nothing, Aragorn ventured further, "The orcs put you to torment, did they not? Perhaps you should sit down, rest for a while..."

Legolas' eyes flickered over the other occupants of the cell, but they were at their usual places, and talking quietly among themselves. Aragorn had asked them to pay him and the elf no mind when he would approach him, and luckily they obeyed his wish. Again, Aragorn tried to draw Legolas into conversation, "If we had a plan to escape, would you aid us?"

Now he had Legolas' undivided attention – but not his trust. The elf frowned, and growled, "Why would you ask me to aid you? What trickery is this?"

"I ask because we can not do it without you. And I ask because I am sure you loathe this place and the predicament we all are in as much as every one of us."

Legolas took a shaky breath, and for one moment his face and eyes betrayed his vulnerability, his exhaustion and despair. Aragorn had guessed right. Legolas was not by his own choice tormenting them. Then the mask was once more in place. And Aragorn knew why. Legolas needed the mask to keep going. Whatever his reasons for acting as torturer – and Aragorn could take a few well educated guesses, based on what he knew about the elf – Legolas could not continue if he allowed himself to care now, or be cared about. So he shut himself off.

Aragorn asked again, "Will you aid us?"

Legolas moved not, said nothing this time. Stubbornly Aragorn explained his plan, "The best moment for us to overtake them is when they bring you and whoever was with you back. So, next time you are brought back whoever was with you will play unconscious, but attack the moment the orcs open the cell door. They are never quite as vigilant then as when they get you, so they'll not expect that. We will be prepared to fight though. Can you take out the two who are always covering you, before they raise an alarm?"

Still Legolas answered him not, but he looked at Aragorn fully now, and his eyes burned. Aragorn slightly nodded, and said, "I'll take that as a 'yes'. Hilmar, my fellow ranger, knows you will choose him for tomorrow-"

Legolas jerked, and swayed again, and Aragorn had to forcefully keep back to not rush to his side and offer aid. Instead he quietly continued, "He is the best choice, and confident he can take the twenty lashes and still fight. It would help if you concentrate on his left side, for he is right handed."

Now Legolas gave an almost imperceptible nod. Relieved, Aragorn approached the last topic on his mind, "You should rest tonight. I would guard your sleep, if you trust me."

"I shall not find rest in this place."

"Lie down at least. Relax your body for a while, if not your mind."

A tremble went through Legolas. Again his eyes searched the cave as if he was looking for a sign of danger or betrayal. Aragorn waited calmly.

"Do not deceit me!"

In a low murmur, to insure that no other, not even the two elves, would be able to overhear, Aragorn answered, "Why would I, Legolas Thranduilion? Escape without your aid is not possible."

Legolas violently jerked. This confirmed Aragorn's guess about his identity. For a moment it seemed as if he would argue some more, but then Legolas sat down. Gingerly, to not pull his hurting side more than necessary, Aragorn did the same.

Aragorn and Hilmar exchanged a glance, and the older ranger gave the younger an encouraging smile. Grateful, Aragorn grinned back. Then he let his gaze travel over the others. The adults among the humans still ignored elf and ranger, but the girl stared in open astonishment. The two elves focused exclusively on their fallen companion. Their quit laments could be heard, and Aragorn knew they would sing over the dead body for the whole night. Aragorn was not sure if Legolas slept at all, and in the morning it was the elf, who warned him about the approaching orcs, "They come."

Instantly Aragorn retreated. While Legolas went up to assume his usual stance, Aragorn sat down next to Hilmar. And just in time. Moments later Legolas and Hilmar were taken away by the orcs.

* * * * *

While Legolas and Hilmar were gone, the others prepared as best as they could. Aragorn and Hilmar already had lain near the iron door of the cell, so he was positioned ideal, without raising suspicion. Naomer and Meothen gathered a few small stones, and gave them to their children and Sibolda. They would not really work as weapon, but hopefully distract the orcs long enough to allow the men to attack. The two Rohirrim would pretend to have a fight. Aragorn hoped that the orcs would be amused by it, and not suspect a trick. But first they all had to wait. The hours were long and hard. Aragorn tried to empty his mind. Worry would only weaken him now. There was nothing he could do. Either Hilmar would still be conscious and able to begin the fight, or he would not. All the rest of them could do was prepare, and hope for the best.

Finally they came. Two orcs carried Hilmar between them. The older ranger's feet left tracks on the dusty ground, and blood mixed with sweat rolled in rivulets from the many welts on his exposed back. There were much more than could be expected from twenty whiplashes. Aragorn, who was supposed to observe the arguing two men, could not help but stare at the sight for a moment longer, before his eyes flickered to Legolas. Again the elf showed no reaction at all, he was completely withdrawn.

'Don't assume!' Aragorn chided himself for the moment of distrust. He knew nothing of what had happened. He had to trust in Legolas, or they would surely fail. Luckily neither Naomer nor Meothen were aware that something was not right, they began to push each other.

The orcs laughed, and one even cheered them on. While Aragorn pretended to watch the two Rohirrim, he heard how the key was pushed into the lock. A moment later a squeaking sound told everyone that the deciding moment arrived. If Hilmar was still able, he would make his move now.

Tensed for instant action, Aragorn still waited. And then hell broke lose. A shout of Hilmar – the signal – was followed instantly by an elven war cry, and the sound of a body hitting the ground. A moment later Aragorn was on his feet and through the door, and slammed into an orc who kicked against Hilmar's body. Hand to hand combat with an angry orc was not something Aragorn ever intended to do again, but in the end he was victorious. The orc was dead.

Aragorn looked around. The two Rohirrim had taken out the other orc near the door, and Legolas stood between two more orcs who lay on the ground. One had died of a broken neck. The other had a crushed throat, and was still twisting and gurgling for breath, but would surely die, albeit it would take some time. Legolas was watching calmly, with cold eyes. Aragorn shivered at the sight, grabbed a scimitar that was lying nearby, and with one swift stroke ended the orc's life. No one, not even an orc, deserved to die such a cruel slow dead.

And then Aragorn focused on Hilmar, who was on the ground, unmoving. With fear in his heart, Aragorn knelt next to him, and turned him around. Hilmar's chest was as bloody as his back, welts were covering it, and even his face. And an iron poker was sticking out of his side. A poker like Legolas had used to brand him, and the area around it was black and burnt. With trembling fingers Aragorn felt for a pulse. But he found none. Hilmar was dead.

A cry wanted to break free of Aragorn's chest, but he would not allow sorrow to overcome him. Not yet, not here. Not while he knew not how Hilmar had died. He carefully checked his friend's body for further injuries, for anything that would convince him that Hilmar had died in the fight and not by the effects of having been tortured, but he found nothing. It seemed as if the other ranger had managed only to start the fight, distract the orcs long enough for the prisoners to come out, or perhaps even giving the signal had been his last action. Aragorn closed his eyes in anguish, before he managed to look at Legolas, who was still standing between the two orcs he had brought down. Aragorn knew his eyes held the accusations his mouth did not form, but he could not help it. For over a minute they stared at each other, neither saying a word.

"Come, lad. You can do nothing more for him. He gave his life so that we are free." Naomer tried to pull Aragorn to his feet while he spoke, and the young ranger allowed it. But when Meothen asked him to come with them, he wordlessly shook his head. He registered not how they left, with the remaining members of their families. He was not aware that the two young elves had fled the gruesome cave already, leaving the dead old elf behind. He stood with drooped shoulders, stared at Hilmar, and felt empty.

He knew not how much time had gone by, before he took a shaky breath, and finally looked around. Legolas and he were the only living ones left, and Aragorn knew they must fly, or it all would have been for naught. More orcs lived in these caves, they could not be captured again.

"We must go," said Aragorn, while he picked up the scimitar he formerly had used to kill the orc. Then he walked toward the entrance of the cave, but the elf followed him not. "Legolas, come!"

Again Legolas reacted not. Tempted for a moment to simply leave without waiting if Legolas would snap out of it or not, Aragorn grunted, and changed track, "What do you think they will do to you, when they find you here, amidst their slain comrades?"

"I care not what happens to me. But you must go." Toneless, flat voice. Legolas had barely moved his lips to answer, but he had answered.

Once more questioning Legolas' sanity, along with his own, Aragorn went back to the elf, grabbed Legolas at the arm, and roughly pulled him along. "Move!"

This time Legolas followed the command, but he ran woodenly, nothing was left of the typical elven grace. 'As long as he moves…' Aragorn grimly thought, and stayed behind the elf, to push him whenever he slowed.

They emerged out of the caves without further fight, to Aragorn's relief. In haste, he made for the woods, still pushing Legolas every now and then. The ranger had hoped that once outside Legolas would awaken from the stupor he seemed to be in, but it was not so. For several hours they ran, until finally, gasping for breath and holding his hurting side, Aragorn broke to his knees. Panting, he simply stayed were he was. Legolas ran a few more steps before he slowed and finally stopped.

"Do you hear any sign of pursuit?" asked Aragorn.

For a moment Legolas listened intently, but gave no answer. Praying that in case of danger Legolas would warn him, but too exhausted to push the elf for an answer, Aragorn murmured, "I need to rest a while."

Legolas still said nothing. For a few minutes Aragorn just stared dumbly at the ground and tried to control his ragged breath. Then he lifted his head, and glanced at the elf who seemingly had not moved at all since they had stopped.

"What are your plans, now that you are free again?" He felt not really up to talk, but Legolas' constant refusal to truly acknowledge him, their situation, anything, concerned Aragorn greatly.

Stiffly Legolas came next to him and crouched down. Then, with a carefully controlled slow motion, Legolas touched the scimitar Aragorn was still carrying and said, "I await your punishment."

"Punishment?" Aragorn asked, shocked.

Legolas said no more. He withdrew his hand, and crouched quietly, motionless and with his head bowed before the ranger. The whole figure spoke of misery. Was the expectation of being punished what made Legolas come with him in the end? Aragorn's thoughts whirled. He could relay to the feelings of guilt Legolas surely was experiencing now, but also he had not gotten over his confusion, and – admittedly – anger, about Hilmar's death. Harsher than he meant the words to sound, he said, "I have no right to judge what you did, for I don't know all the facts. No, Legolas, punishment will not come from me."

With these words Aragorn stood up, and limped a few steps away. There he stilled, and tried to calm his racing heart and his tormented thoughts. At some level all he wished for was to be left alone, to no longer have to see the elf who had tortured his friend to death. But his caring heart would not allow him to flee now. Instinctively Aragorn knew, if he left Legolas like this, the elf would not survive for long. Even so he might fade from grief.

There had been enough deaths. Aragorn turned around again, intent on talking with Legolas. The elf had risen and faced the ranger. His eyes were lifeless, his expression and his posture showed no emotion. But Aragorn was not fooled. Lightly he stepped before the elf, and quietly said, "Will you tell me what happened?"

"You have seen what happened. How I-" Legolas' voice broke.

Aragorn softly said, "How you tormented us, you mean to say?"

No word from Legolas, the elf had stilled completely, so Aragorn continued with a shaking voice, "The orcs forced you to torture us, didn't they? What hold over you did they have?"

Still Legolas was frozen. Aragorn went on, voice firmer now, "Had they realized how important you are? Did they try to break your will? What would've happened if you refused to do what they wanted? Wouldn't they have chosen the children, or the woman? Wouldn't they have delivered the double or even trice amount of whatever their cruel minds came up, if you didn't to us what they wanted?"

Legolas flinched badly, lifted his head and tonelessly said, "That is how your friend died. When the orcs suddenly changed their demands and told me to stab him, I did not… I could not…"

Aragorn gasped, and Legolas went silent once more. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Aragorn turned away. He did not want for Legolas to see the anger he felt. Anger, ironically, that Legolas had not been able to continue his cruel deeds. Perhaps Hilmar still would be alive, if only Legolas had been stronger… or if Aragorn himself had chosen a different course of action...

But no, the orcs were to blame. Almost relieved to have a focus for his inner upheaval, Aragorn finally felt ready to face Legolas again, and turned around – but the elf was gone.

Aragorn's exhaustion on top of the grievous injury finally got the better of him, and he did not manage to search Legolas' tracks or check the trees nearby for more than a few minutes. Even though he was certain the elf was in no condition to make it far right now, he could not gather the strength to follow him any more. Next to an old elm he sank down to the ground and, softly moaning in pain, checked his side.

As he had feared, the wound was infected already. He would have to search for herbs that would aid him, but first of all he needed rest. He was so tired. Sighing, he lay down, and rolled onto his back. Slight movement above him made him jerk his already half-lidded eyes open again. Legolas was perched on one of the highest branches of exactly the elm he unwittingly had chosen as resting place.

He honestly considered talking to the elf once more, but when he tried to sit up and his trembling arms failed him, he changed his mind. Instead he softly pleaded, "Would you stand guard? I can't..."

Legolas' answer – if one was forthcoming at all – Aragorn would never know. The ranger was unconscious mere moments later.

* * * * *

When he woke, the pain in his side had lessened considerably. His wound had been cared for; he could still smell the lingering odour of the herbs Legolas used to treat the burn with. Nearby a fire was merrily blazing, and Aragorn realized he was comfortably bedded on a layer of leaves. Aragorn looked around, and his eyes fell on Legolas, who was sitting nearby. Slowly, to not tear at his wound, he also sat up and murmured, "I am grateful for your aid, Legolas."

"Do not thank me!" was Legolas fierce replay, but after that he said no more, instead he went to his feet.

Hastily Aragorn, who feared that Legolas was about to leave, said the first thing that came to mind, "Are you heading back to Mirkwood?"

"I have an errant that will lead me further west. What is your destination?"

Aragorn said slowly, "I also travel west. I want to visit the Last Homely House."

After a tense silent moment Legolas asked, "You know of Imladris?"

"I was raised in Elrond's household."

Legolas nodded, and said no more. But his posture indicated that he was still uneasy. To distract him further, Aragorn said, "I am sure Elrond will welcome you in his home. You are travelling there, are you not?"

"I shall not be welcome in any elven realm, for I am a kin-slayer. I only head there because I swore to do so, and it is as good a place as any to await my sentence." The last words were a mere whisper.

Nervously Aragorn bit his lip. He was treading on dangerous ground here, and he knew it. But he could not see Legolas suffer such. He murmured, "Elrond will understand. He is a kin-slayer, too."

"What do you mean by that?"

With an outward calm he did not feel, Aragorn explained, "Over the millennia he has lost several elves he tried to heal. They died by his hand, by the actions he took or did not take."

"That is hardly the same!"

"Is it not? He was faced with impossible choices. Every healer is in that position now and then – as were you, Legolas. You did not bring death by choice, your aim was to save as many as possible. The orcs are to blame, not you, nor any of us."

On the last word Aragorn's voice slightly faltered. Despite the turmoil and despair Legolas was in, he obviously caught on to that. His resentful glance changed to one of confusion. Then he blurted out, "You blame yourself?"

Aragorn ruefully laughed, and then said, "Elrond's sons named me the master of guilt often enough. I guess they do have a point. Yes, Legolas, for Hilmar's death at least I'd partly take blame, for it was my plan that lead to his death, if any blame were to place at someone else than the orcs' feet, that is."

Long Legolas answered not, but finally, with a sigh, he said, "You are wounded, so it might be best if we journey together for a while"

Soon they were on their way. They talked not much, despite Aragorn's occasional tries to start a conversation. Legolas was withdrawn to the point of being impolite. And after a while Aragorn, who also felt not much like speaking, simply accepted that he had a taciturn companion.

Soon they found a comfortable routine for setting up camp and dividing watches in the night. Truth to be told, during the first two nights Legolas stood guard alone, Aragorn was too exhausted and needed the rest badly. On the second evening the young ranger even withdrew deep into the woods, to finally let out some of his sorrow about Hilmar's death. But on the third day Aragorn felt how he slowly grew stronger again.

They took what nature provided. Aragorn gathered herbs and roots, and Legolas, who refused to eat anything, took responsibility for finding water each evening. Aragorn would almost have felt as if he was on a trip with his brothers once more, had it not been for the cloud of remorse and sadness that clung tightly to Legolas. The elf also refused any aid Aragorn offered for his injuries. Aragorn knew Legolas had been tortured by the orcs, but he never had a chance to check up on the wounds. He could only pray that superior elven healing abilities would take care of them.

And on their fifth day, finally, Aragorn for the first time dared to hope that Legolas would overcome his feelings of guilt.

Legolas had found a piece of wood that could serve as crude bow, and currently was braiding a bowstring from his long blond hair. Teasingly, Aragorn said, "Are you sure that thing will work?"

"Do you doubt my abilities, Strider?"

"Well, my friend, I'd trust in them better if you'd perhaps shoot at something with it, just to prove that the bow will not break?"

Just thinking of meat, of a real meal, made Aragorn's stomach grumble audible, and Legolas' lips twitched slightly. But still he did not look up from his work, instead he said, while he finished the bowstring, and attached it to the wood, "Well then, prepare a fire, while I hunt. But beware: if I manage to bring something to eat, you shall have to cook it."

And then Legolas was gone, leaving a softly chuckling ranger behind.

It took longer than Aragorn had expected. He had a fire ready, and wood enough to have it last for hours. Also he had gathered herbs to spice the meat Legolas hopefully would bring. He also found a sharp stone, and used that to try and make a few arrows out of some sticks he found. They would not be sufficient in a battle with orcs, but they might serve to kill perhaps a hare or bird. For anything more sophisticated he would need tools, and iron arrowheads, but making the arrows helped him to fight his nervousness during Legolas' long absence.

But then, three hours later, Aragorn knew something was wrong. There was no way that it could have taken an elf this long to find game in these woods. Aragorn had made eight arrows by now, surely Legolas would manage to make one in far less time, and one would be all a Mirkwood archer needed. No, something definitely was amiss.

Ranger that he was, Aragorn had kept his eyes and ears open for any kind of approaching danger, so he was certain no orc, or other beast, was nearby. It was midday, wolves were not hunting yet. Humans did not live here. And then he remembered the stories Elladan had told him when he was young. Stories of unsafe spots in the northern woods near the Misty Mountains, stories of animals and elves swallowed by small swamps hidden below green layers of something that looked like grass, promising a safety it did not provide.

A cold fist clenched Aragorn's heart, while he slowly, still in shock from his sudden fear, rose to his feet. He had been taught by his brothers to recognize the deadly traps, but it was more than likely that Legolas was not even aware of that particular danger. Aragorn left in haste in the direction Legolas formerly had taken.


	3. Chapter 3

Half an hour later he found Legolas, as he had feared, submerged deeply in one of the hazardous green spots. Legolas was conscious and must have heard him, for he tried to turn his head, but he was too firmly stuck already to move more than a few inches.

"Don't move. Be still. I'll get you out, but you have to keep still!" Aragorn's voice betrayed his horror. Elladan and Elrohir had repeatedly told him that any movement would only hasten death when caught in a swamp. Hurriedly, but carefully checking the ground before every step he took, he surrounded the green area so that Legolas could see him, and hopefully draw strength from his presence. Also Aragorn needed to know exactly how much Legolas was seized by the deathly mire already.

When finally he was in a position to have a full view, Aragorn had to fight to not let his fear become visible. Legolas was submerged already so deep that his chin was touching the mud, but one arm was slung around a half sunken small deer. The marks on the surface of the swamp told Aragorn that Legolas had fought his current predicament long and hard, but to no avail. At least he had managed to hold on to the deer. That was most likely all that prevented him from having gone under completely by now. But the elven hand grasping into the thick hide of the deer was white, and trembled from strain. Also Legolas' breathe came in painfully short gasps. The mud was probably crushing his chest tightly. Soon he would suffocate from that, even if he did not drown first.

Horrified blue eyes met steadfast grey ones. Aragorn was determined to get Legolas out, even if he so far knew not how. Lips set into a tight line, he glanced around. A few long and thick branches lay nearby, and in haste Aragorn grabbed them, and shoved them towards Legolas. Upon seeing his intent, the elf wheezed, "No… do not… come near…"

Instead of answering, Aragorn asked, "Can you move anything at all? Your legs, or perhaps your trapped arm? Try only the fingers and toes, not more."

"Fingers… aye… Feet… numb…"

'Give him strength… give us both strength' Aragorn prayed silently to whichever entity would listen. It sounded bad. The loss of feeling in legs could indicate nerve damage from the pressure of the unyielding mud. But he would not voice his concern and could only hope that Legolas was not aware of that particular risk. Even more hastily he collected any kind of wood he could find, to strengthen the weak structure he was building.

Aragorn worked as fast as he could, but they were running out of time. Legolas still was sinking. The mud was now at his lower lip.

The shaky structure Aragorn had built to bridge the distance between them reached half the way to Legolas. But there was no more wood nearby. Horrified Aragorn looked around, and back into Legolas' face. How to span the distance, how to pull the elf out! He needed a rope – but he had it not.

With an angry shake of his head he drove the dark thoughts of Legolas' imminent death from his mind. Elrond had named him Estel. So then, to hope he would cling. He would not give up until Legolas was safe or truly lost. Rope or not, he would-

Sudden inspiration struck. That was it. In haste he shrugged out of his cloak and loosened the ties that held his trousers. Moments later he cut the leather into thick stripes with the orc scimitar he still carried with him. Then he strung the leather pieces tightly together and robbed on his belly towards the elf. When he reached the end of the wooden construct, he tossed one part of his improvised rope towards Legolas' hand, but missed the right spot.

By now Legolas could no longer speak. His lips were in the mud, and his breath came in desperate wheezes. In moments his nose would be also submerged and then any aid would come too late. Desperate, but not willing to give in yet, Aragorn threw his improvised rope again. And this time it landed exactly where he needed it, next to Legolas' fingers. There was no way the elf could see it, though. From his position, by now all Legolas could see was Aragorn. For the last minutes, the elf's frightened eyes had been constantly on the ranger.

Far calmer than he felt, the ranger explained, "Listen, Legolas. I'll retreat out of your sight and search for a stable position. When I tell you to do so, you have to let go of that deer and thrust your hand towards me. The rope is within your reach. You must do the pulling, though. I am not strong enough to get you out. You have to do it yourself."

By now the green mud was almost at Legolas' nostrils. They both knew that the next moments would decide if the elf would live or die. Giving Legolas a last encouraging nod, Aragorn hastily scrambled back on the branches, rammed a few of the thickest planks into the mud, and wound his end of the improvised rope twice around his wrist, to insure a secure grip. Then he flattened himself against the branches, and pressed his arms against the wood before him, to prepare a hold against the yank he desperately hoped would come.

Then he put his head against his arms, tensed his whole body, and cried, "Now, Legolas!"

One moment nothing happened and Aragorn feared the worst, but then an incredibly strong tug went through him. He was violently jerked against the wood, and needed all his strength to prevent being drawn into the swamp himself, and to not cry out in pain, for splinters drove deeply into his flesh.

It took hours before Legolas finally was out of the deathly trap. Hand over hand, with infrequent pauses, either due to pure exhaustion of either of them, or out of need to adjust their grips on their tiny resources, Legolas managed to free himself. Eventually, both lay on the branches, Legolas partly on top of Aragorn, and they were breathing harsh and uneven.

A slow drizzle started, and daylight gave way to night, but they moved not. They were spent, bodily exhausted almost beyond their limits as well as emotionally drained from their ordeal. Aragorn's arms, chest and legs were bleeding sluggishly, and he shivered from cold. How Legolas fared he had no idea. He was aware that the elf still lived, but that was all. Before finally the by now almost welcome darkness claimed him, he meant to hear voices, familiar voices. Thinking that he was hallucinating in his exhaustion, he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * * * *

When he came to, he was moving in a way that reminded him of riding, and strong arms were around him. He tried to speak, to move, but lacked the strength.

"Stay calm, Estel. I have you. All is well… rest…"

A familiar voice again… and pain… pain so great that it swallowed him whole… once more all went black…

* * * * *

His next awakening was easier. The pain had lessened, and he was lying rather comfortably – on linen? It smelled of herbs, and the sounds around him reminded him of home. They had been in the Misty Mountains north of Imladris… and then he remembered the familiar voices. It had sounded like Elladan and Elrohir. Aragorn jerked his eyes open.

And indeed, above him was the face of a smiling dark-haired elf. Aragorn grinned back in relief.

"El…"

More he could not manage yet, but it was enough. Elladan grabbed his hand, and his eyes twinkled.

"Welcome back, Estel. I am so glad to see you again... but I really prefer the view of you in your trousers over that of you out of them, little brother."

A chuckle escaped Aragorn, but then he remembered what had happened. He tried to rise, and gasped out, "Legolas! How…"

Elladan pressed him back down, and calmed him, "Fear not, he lives. Thanks to you, if the tracks we saw are any indication. That is a tale I truly wish to hear, but for now you have to rest. You were very ill. Here, drink this."

Weakness and a need to cough – harsh hacking painful coughs – robbed Aragorn of the little strength he had, and he managed not more than a sip from the mug Elladan was holding against his lips before he was asleep once more.

* * * * *

Later Aragorn learned that it had taken him over a week to recover sufficiently to understand the situation he was in. He had many wounds on his chest, legs and arms. Several of the injuries were infected from the swamp. His brand wound had worsened, too. On top of that pneumonia held him in a firm grip for days. Elrond had to use all his skill to save him. In fact his life had been far more endangered than that of Legolas.

From a few half whispered conversations Aragorn overheard he knew that Legolas also had been unconscious for a day, and for a while it had been uncertain if he would be able to walk again or not, but by now Legolas' body had recovered almost completely.

Aragorn still was bed-bound, though. The fever was under control, the wounds were healing, and the cough slowly subsiding. But he was weak as a kitten, and even drinking broth and teas was draining him of the little strength he had. Either Elrond or one of his sons kept a constant vigil at his bed. For the first days they only bantered lightly with him, showed him how happy they were to have him back in more or less one piece, and avoided any further discussion of what had happened during the last weeks.

When Elrond sat down one evening next to Aragorn's bed with a grave face though, the ranger knew that the time for some serious talk had come.

"Aragorn, I need to know about what happened. Are you up to speak about the pains Legolas inflicted on you?"

Aragorn frowned slightly at the choice of words, but nodded in relief that finally he would hear more about how Legolas fared. Elrond's controlled way of talking told Aragorn that the elf was upset, "He claims responsibility for the death of three humans, one of them a ranger, a friend of yours. Also he said he killed two elves, father and son. And he told me he tortured you, that the brand at your side was his doing, and that he is responsible for your other injuries also."

For a moment Elrond stopped, gave Aragorn time to answer, but when the young ranger said naught, he went on, "From the little more Legolas said, from the marks on his body and from a few feverish comments you made, I know the whole truth is not as simple as he tried to make me believe. I have placed Legolas under house arrest-"

No. This was not right. Interrupting Elrond, Aragorn said urgently, "You can't punish him for what he did! I know it sounds horrible, but he had his reasons! He…"

Elrond's gentle smile made Aragorn stop his agitated words.

"Oh Estel. I missed your caring heart, and your quick tempers, while you were gone. But listen now, please, and let me finish what I want to say, for I fear there is not much time."

Surprised, Aragorn quieted down, and expectantly looked at Elrond, who seemed much relieved.

"I have placed Legolas under house arrest to protect him. Not from any elf here, let me assure you, but from himself. When no condemnation from my side was forthcoming, Legolas insisted that he needed to leave for Mirkwood, instantly. His body is healed, but I do not trust his mental strength yet. I would not have him travel alone right now, and he refuses any company I ask him to take.

"Placing him under house arrest was the only thing I could think of to delay his departure. I need to know more before I can decide what to do. Tell me what happened, Aragorn. Tell me all of it."

And Aragorn did. He gave Elrond a quick overview about everything that had happened. While he spoke, Elladan and Elrohir entered. They shared a short glance with Elrond, and Elladan sadly shook his head as if to answer an unspoken question of his father, but they said nothing, just sat down quietly next to Aragorn's bed, and listened.

Aragorn finished his tale and murmured, "I had thought, after he built that bow, that his will to live was back. But it seems I was mistaken."

Elladan said, "No, I do not think so. My guess is that indeed he chose to live again, otherwise he would not have come out of that mire. But he claims responsibility for your condition now, no matter what father and we tell him. He sees himself at fault, his mere presence a hindrance for the wellbeing of others. The only solution his guilt-ridden mind can come up with is to remove himself from us, to protect us."

Elrond was silent for a long time. Then, with a sigh, he said, "Elladan is right. This is even worse than I feared. I am very proud of you, Aragorn. You showed considerable wisdom, and kept your head clear, under extremely difficult circumstances. But now I am really at my wits end concerning Legolas. The stubbornness of that youngling is legendary…"

Elrohir snickered, despite the seriousness of the situation. Aragorn caught a glance that was shared between his two brothers, and knew they must have met Legolas before, and that that encounter surely would make for an interesting story. A story he one day would extract from one of Elrond's sons. But it certainly would not be today.

Something else he asked, though, "How old is Legolas?"

Elladan answered, "He is one of the youngest elves on Arda. The youngest in Mirkwood. He should be around 500 years by now, give or take a few decades."

Elrohir chimed in, "Legolas' mother died when he was still an infant. That makes him the only son of a stern king whose realm is in constant threat of being overrun by deathly forces. Legolas' life was not comfortable, and the duties laid upon him on a daily basis were not light, nor carried easily. But he never complained. He loves his home, his father and his people. He would die for them. The question is: will he live for them as well?"

Elrond smiled fondly at Elrohir, but his eyes were sad. Abruptly, Aragorn sat up and said, "I want to see him. I feel well enough, and I promise to rest afterwards, but I need to see him, now."

Elladan answered, "I do not think that wise. When he first regained consciousness, your well-being was his first concern. He knows you are healing, but he refused to come and see for himself. In fact, Legolas no longer speaks. We tried, just before we came here, but he ignored us."

Again Elladan and Elrond shared an anguished glance they tried to hide, and Aragorn knew that Legolas' state was even worse than they had made him believe so far. His face a set mask of determination his family knew well enough to not try and stop him, he slowly came to his feet, tugged a blanket around his shoulders and stumbling made his way to the door. He exited his room and limped towards the guest room, knowing he would find Legolas there.

* * * * *

Legolas lay motionless on the bed, curled onto his side, face hollow, eyes closed, and the glow all but gone from his skin. Except for his shallow breathing, nothing indicated that the wood-elf still lived.

Pacing agitatedly, Aragorn was thinking hard, but he had not spoken yet. He was sure Elrond and his sons had already used every clever argument there was, had tried any way to convince the elf that he was not guilty in the sense he felt he was. But obviously nothing of it reached the wood-elf. Aragorn thought back to all they had talked about in the cave and on their flight. There must be a way to bring Legolas out of his withdrawn state, he just had to find it.

And then he knew what he had to do. He limped to the desk, let the blanket slip from his shoulders and took the long elvish dagger that was lying there. Moving next to Legolas' bed, he hardened his glance and his features, and sharply said, "Legolas Thranduilion. You asked for punishment. And now I – Strider of the North to the humans, Estel Elrondion to the elves, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn to the Dunedain – I shall tell you your sentence, for Hilmar's death, for the death of the two Rohirrim, and for the death of your two fellow elves. Do you hear me?"

Legolas' eyes opened. Keeping his face stern and his posture erect, Aragorn stared hard into them. When he was sure he had the elf's full attention, he commanded, "Get on your feet!"

While Legolas climbed out of bed, Aragorn purposefully played with the dagger in his hand. He waited until the elf was standing, and then another minute. Finally, while slowly pulling the dagger out of its sheath, he asked, "Do you swear to succumb to the punishment I place upon you without refusal or resistance?"

Legolas sighed, and it sounded almost like a sigh of relief. With lowered head, Legolas murmured, "I swear."

"Then hear me, Legolas, son of Thranduil. You shall live a year for every life you took. A day of each year you shall spend servicing one race you took a life from in any way you see fit. After five years you are free, either to fade, or to continue living, whatever your choice will be."

Legolas' head shot up. He opened his mouth, and closed it again. Then he angrily spat out, "You deceived me!"

Aragorn knew that he had robbed Legolas of the one way the elf saw as sole solution in his desolate state – death. He had done it in full awareness of the possible consequences, and yet, now that he was at the receiving end of Legolas' disappointed anger, sorrow hit him like an axe. Aragorn could only pray that Legolas would find his will to live once more. His hope for friendship with the wood-elf was gone, though. With slumped shoulders, Aragorn walked to the desk, let the dagger drop on it, and murmured tiredly, "Yes, I guess you could call it deceit. I'd ask your forgiveness, but to be honest, I'd do it again if I had to, so it would be a lie if I said I am sorry."

Then he turned around, looked into Legolas' eyes once more, and said softly, "You swore. Don't forget that."

Without waiting if Legolas might say more, Aragorn walked out of the guest room and back to his own, where he promptly lost consciousness the moment he closed the door.

When he woke again the next day, Elrond told him that Legolas had left Imladris during the night. "Before Legolas left, he bade me to give you a message, 'Tell Aragorn that I will keep to my word. I will not forget – nor forgive,' he said." Elrond gently explained.

Aragorn needed a month to recover enough to be fit for travel, and despite Elrond's continuous reassurances that he had done the right thing, it was a subdued ranger that finally took his leave from the Last Homely House.

* * * * *

Twenty months later

Naomer, Meothen and a third man sat around a merry fire, but their mood was far from happy. Their supplies were at an end, each of them had wounds from a skirmish with a band of orcs, they had lost three companions on that day, and all of their horses. They were exhausted from the fight and long hours of hasty flight, but dared not to sleep, in case the orcs were still nearby. It had been a dark day, and their future was very uncertain. The fire was born out of need to cauterize their wounds, and now they took a few minutes to recover from that unpleasant experience.

Quietly, Naomer said to Meothen, "Do you remember when we were prisoner to the orcs? Then we were even further from hope and from home, and we made it. Do not worry so much, it will work out in the end."

Meothen sighed. His fears were not erased so easily. But Naomer meant well, he knew, so he smiled weakly, and said, "You are right, it ended well. Nordrim might even be out with us on our next patrol – if my daughter allows it, that is."

The two men chuckled, while they thought about their stubborn children, who had lived through the horror in that cave together with them. Then Naomer mused, "I wonder what happened to that surviving ranger and the torturer."

Meothen gave a half shrug, while their silent companion shrank deeper into his cloak and began to douse the fire with sand and stones. Then Meothen said, "Well, I hope Strider killed him. Would have served the elf right, after what he did to us."

The man dousing the fire closed his eyes for a moment as if in pain and seemed to retreat into himself even more. Naomer said, "I think otherwise, my friend. That elf did not deserve to die. I know, I argued differently then, but I had time to consider all that happened. Do you not remember how he pleaded with the oldest of the elves a few times during the first days? I cannot shake the feeling that he was asking for his death. And what if he had died? Do you honestly think the orcs would have shown us any mercy then, or treaded us better? And surely the elves could have killed that elf, if they had thought that a good idea. But obviously the elves, and also Strider, who did save us in the end, believed that he must survive. I wonder who that elf is though and if he still lives…"

Each one of them deep in their thoughts, they spoke no more, and soon they packed their sparse belongings, to begin their long and perilous march home. But their going was slow, their wounds hindered them, and hunger weakened them further. In the evening they had travelled only half of the distance they had planned, but they were exhausted to their limits, so they decided to rest at the next opportune place. Half an hour later they stumbled upon a small creek, and there stood three magnificent elven horses, each with packs of food and blankets secured to their backs, and one of them also with a pouch full of healing herbs strung around his neck. Tied to the pouch was a note.

After having recovered from his surprise, Naomer tried to catch that horse, but it shied away from him. Meothen also had no luck in getting hold of it. But surprisingly, when the third man tried, a stranger to Rohan who only recently had joined their group and called himself Thorongil, the horse allowed him to touch it. With shaking fingers Thorongil untied the note, and haltingly read aloud, while translating the elvish words into Westron in his head, "Men from Rohan, you need not worry further about the group of orcs you met yesterday, they are all slain. Please take horses and supplies as small recompense for what I once did to you. Signed: the Torturer."

Naomer and Meothen stared in wonder at each other, and both missed how Thorongil turned away from them to hide his watering eyes and read the postscript on the note once more.

It said 'There is nothing to forgive, and it is I who needs to apologize. Thank you, my friend.'

- - - - -

The End

- - - - -

A/N:

The Lauderdale: Good point - and even with a solution to fix it :-). I admit, I had a vague feeling of something not being right (several things in fact ;-), this would have been comparingly easy to solve though), but I hadn't figured out what exactly made me uneasy, especially since in my head - and in a earlier different version with plot-parts I deleted in the end - the question was adressed at some point (not from Aragorn himself though, but he could have witnessed and understood its meaning, and the reader alongside), I just didn't show it here. Thanks a lot for mentioning this, and for the link, I'll go there and check it out.

Many thanks to everyone who reviewed, and of course to everyone who read it :-). I hope you had fun with this little beast.


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